This Strange Feeling
by sithmarauder
Summary: Request, high school!AU.  "It would pass, he figured, this strange feeling. It always had before. It would have to now."  One-sided Prussia/Austria, implied and developing Switzerland/Austria.


_Hullo everyone! This is a fic for the lovely michiru-fiujimori88, who requested a high school _**"fanfic on Switzerland and Austria getting along*somewhat* and have Prussia/france/spain spy on them and Prussia gets mad and he dosent know why."**_ I'm afraid my mind went a little crazy on this one, but I hope you enjoy anyways and I again thank you for being so patient and waiting for as long as you did._

_Explanation for their ages: When given human ages, Switzerland is younger than Austria. Also I am quite possibly a moron ;3  
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-x-_  
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If anyone were to ask Gilbert Beilschmidt about his relationship with Roderich Edelstein, they wouldn't get more than a sneer or a remark about how awesome he was and how he wouldn't even want "that prissy aristocrat" featuring in his _nightmares._ It was just the natural way of things at the academy, their squabbles and disagreements were, just like Arthur Kirkland's legendary rows with Francis, which Gilbert never failed to laugh at either. It was like a miniature war broke out whenever those two fought – a war that they somehow _always_ managed to bring the whole of the older students into, whether or not they were in the individual starters or not. Sometimes even they managed to stand each other enough to gang up on some other poor, unsuspecting people, though – something he and the priss had never been able to do.

None of that quite explained what they were doing under the table, however.

"Quit pushing, Francis!"

Francis Bonnefoy glanced back at him, a faint frown creasing his brow as he shifted uncomfortably from their vantage point underneath the table, thankfully covered in black cloth, within the academy's music room. It wasn't necessarily the best place to hide, but considering how much trouble they would be in if they were caught in the music room after being _specifically_ kicked out, but it had been the closest thing that hid the three of them, and they had grabbed the opportunity.

"_I'm_ pushing? You are ze one that 'asn't stopped moving since we got in here!" Francis hissed then, brushing a strand of hair from his face, eyes irate.

"Pheh, maybe, but seeing as how I'm more awesome than you, I should hardly think that matters," Gilbert threw back, shifting again and scowling as he accidentally kicked Antonio in the shin, which resulted in the Spaniard yelping.

"Shut up!" Francis snapped. "Do you _want_ zem to 'ear us?"

Muttering, Gilbert and Antonio arranged themselves around each other so that Antonio could have the squishy middle all to himself while Gilbert took the more spacious end, merciful man that he was. "Not like we're here by choice," he groused, referring to the two men who were responsible for all of this, at least by Gilbert's definition.

"Oh no, we're 'ere because _you_ said you 'ad to come back for something _important_," Francis said lowly, casting a knowing look at his red-eyed companion. Antonio groaned, trying to cover his ears to no avail, wondering how they hadn't been heard yet – granted that the conversation going on outside the table wasn't one where the participants were necessarily _aware_ of their surroundings.

To the students of the World Academy, the odd relationship between music instructor Roderich Edelstein and the student economics teacher Vash Zwingli was a well-known piece of gossip, with students everywhere trying to guess what had turned them from such good friends into such awkward acquaintances. Some said that they had been lovers and that they had broken up after a nasty spat, while others attributed it to outside forces or things like that. Personally, Gilbert hadn't cared, and he _definitely_ wouldn't admit to feeling a dark jolt of jeal – _curiosity _whenever he passed photos of their earlier years as students at this very same school, Zwingli with an expression of fond irritation on his face and Edelstein with… well, he wouldn't call it a smile, but it was sure as hell as close as Gilbert had ever seen to one coming from the prudish man.

So the fact that it was them talking in strained tones outside, Zwingli not hurriedly making an excuse to leave as per usual, was, dare he say it, kind of… interesting.

"… much as I appreciate the visit, Vash, I must admit to wondering why you are here."

At the new sound Gilbert felt his attention literally snap, and he tried to peek through the black cloth as if seeing the conversation made it all the more real.

The short guy, Zwingli, was standing near the door to the classroom looking decidedly stiff whilst Edelstein moved around the room itself, gathering various pieces of sheet music that had been shattered around the room as the students fled, movements oddly transfixing and filled with such an acute sense of calm that left Gilbert blinking rapidly.

"It's nothing to do with you," came the reply, and Gilbert had to hold back a snicker at how ridiculously stiff the guy sounded. "I just came to make sure Lilli was doing okay here."

"Why wouldn't she?" Edelstein replied, straightening up and placing the papers on the podium at the front. Beside him, Francis purred some obscure comment that warranted a chuckle from Antonio, but Gilbert wasn't really paying attention to them at that point.

Zwingli's mumbled reply was too low for Gilbert to catch, but it warranted a frown from Edelstein, something the red-eyed man rolled his eyes at seeing because _there was a familiar expression he knew all too well_.

"Vash," Edelstein said firmly, and Gilbert snickered at the way Zwingli stiffened even more at the use of his first name. "I do not know where you got that idea from, but I assure you it isn't so. Lillian is doing quite well in this class – she's a very talented clarinet player."

"Well how am I supposed to know for sure?" Zwingli snapped, shifting uncomfortably.

Edelstein just watched him levelly, and Gilbert was absolutely stunned to see the small smile that crept across his face. He was even more stunned by the way his gut curled pleasantly in response, but he attributed that to the choking sound from Zwingli.

"You could come talk to me more often, perhaps," Edelstein suggested then, slender hands passing almost absently over the music he had stacked on the podium. "If you would like."

"I—what?"

Edelstein sighed, placing a hand to his forehead in a prissy movement that made Gilbert snort again, but also one that made Zwingli's face redden.

"_Du bist sehr frustrierend_," Edelstein murmured, and _Gott_ if that didn't make Gilbert's mouth go completely dry as his eyes trained unwaveringly on Edelstein's mouth, his body humming pleasantly in response to a familiar language from an unfamiliar source. He had heard Edelstein's accent, sure – it was a subtle thing, but undeniably there – but had, for some reason, never attributed it to the fact that the priss was able to speak German.

"_Sie sind…"_ Zwingli started, and Gilbert saw Edelstein's mouth quirk at the formal way he had been addressed. Gilbert scowled.

"Would you like to discuss this somewhere else?" Edelstein said then, moving so that he was slightly closer to the shorter man than before.

"What do you mean?" Zwingli responded, exhaling with a huff and turning his eyes to the side.

"I'm inviting you out for lunch, Vash – surely it's not that hard to comprehend."

Under normal circumstances Gilbert would have laughed at the darker shade of red Zwingli's face had turned, but instead he only felt a sense of discomfort and acute anger sparking in the pit of his stomach, one that made his hands clench so hard in the folds of black fabric that Francis had to pry his fingers off for fear one of the two men who notice.

"I—you—fine, but this is only because it means I don't have to spend any of my own money," Zwingli said in a way that made Edelstein's prissiness seem like nothing.

"Of course," Edelstein said smoothly, but Gilbert knew there was no way Zwingli could have missed the way the man's violet eyes _shone_.

Mere minutes later, when both men had departed leaving the three students to literally _tumble_ out from underneath the table, Gilbert's teeth were still clenched, and it took Antonio three tries to get his attention away from the empty doorframe.

"Are you okay, _mi amigo_?" the Spaniard questioned, a concerned frown marring his features. Gilbert snorted, avoiding Francis' knowing look entirely, which only served to make the Frenchman's smirk widen further.

"Oh, Gilbert," he cooed, but before he could say anything else Gilbert had stormed out the door, arriving in the hall just in time to see two familiar forms leave from the front door of the school, walking in a way that make his stomach clench even further, twisting into a distinctive uncomfortable and red-hot feeling that left his gaze swimming with a blend of rage and…

"Gilbert!"

"What?" he snapped, turning to glare at his two friends.

"You forgot your flute," Francis said, his smile smug as he held up the case containing Gilbert's beloved flute. Antonio just frowned, looking slightly confused before shrugging, smile sliding back in place. "Ah, eet ees time for us to leave, I think," Francis continued as Gilbert snatched the case, scowling darkly at him. "Don't you agree?"

"Sure," came Antonio's reply. "I was thinking we could all go down…"

Gilbert let his friend's chatter take over as they marched down the empty hallway that lead to the student parking lot, their confident laughter echoing through the corridors as if they hadn't a care in the world. And if Gilbert's mind happened to return darkly to Edelstein and Zwingli, he was quick to dismiss it.

It would pass, he figured, this strange feeling. It always had before. It would have to now.

-x-

_Du bist sehr frustrierend_ - informal; "you are very frustrating."

_Sie sind_ - formal; "you are."

_Thanks for reading!_


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